Warning: May Contain Silliness

Entries tagged with creative

There are certain hard rules, certain immutable laws in life. You will never have enough socks. You will run out of milk faster than you're drinking it. Random kitchen equipment will appear in your house without you going through the intermediate step of buying it, yet you can never find a whisk when you most need one. Cats will always demand to sit on your lap at the most awkward time. Some books and films are genius works of art that make the world a better place for existing, yet you're glad you never have to read or watch them ever again.

You can't look out of your kitchen or bathroom window in the night for fear of something looking back at you.

You can't dangle a foot over the edge of your bed and leave it like that. Don't believe me? Try it. Tonight, when you go to bed, stick your foot out just over the edge of the bed. Leave it covered if you like (cold feet are never conducive to sleep) and try to go to sleep. You won't be able to. Your foot will feel more and more exposed the longer you leave it dangling like that. You will start to feel like something is watching you and your foot. There's something there and it's going to grab your foot and you need to pull your foot up and onto the safety of the bed right now!

This is not a silly holdover from childhood, where monsters would eat you if you weren't completely cocooned in your blanket by the time your parents switched the light off. This is not a sign of some weird foot-related phobia*, either. Rather, it is a learned response.

Sometimes you get an idea which makes you go 'hmm, that looks like fun', but when you try to write it down, it refuses to move from your mind to the paper. These ideas eventually languish and become idle daydreams.

Sometimes you get an idea that feels so real, so right, so urgent that you can't help but sit down straight away and put it on paper. So you scribble frantically, recording snatches of conversation, world building, images, landscapes, sounds and jokes. Then once the fire in your mind dies down, you step back and realise that, at this moment in time, you are not capable of doing this idea justice. You lack the skill. You lack the words. It does not languish because there is the hope that, one day, you will find the words and the skill to make this idea come to life on paper rather than just in your mind. Until that moment, it slumbers.

And sometimes, you get an idea that comes to you unbidden, possibly even unwanted, and it stays in the back of your mind, gathering information and words and images and dreams and previous ideas from all over the place. It grows every day, never coming to the fore but you can feel it gathering strength like a storm. You tingle. You feel something is about to happen. You want this to happen. It expands until it spills over to your conscious mind. And then, all of a sudden, you have this living, breathing idea soaring in your mind, drawing the images in blazing fiery colours across every creative synapse. The words burn in your mind's eye in letters 20 feet tall and a voice whispers incessantly in your ear to write writewriteit write it writeme pleaseplease write me write me and it doesn't care that you don't have the perfect words or if you hack it into a stone wall or write it in the sand with a stick as long as you write, write it, write down this wonderful, glittering, magnificent dream.

The Tales of the Ancient and Venerable Plink is one such idea. I can't ignore this. I can't worry if I don't have the words or if I'm good enough. It doesn't care. The Ancient and Venerable Plink* wants to have his day(s) in the sun. And I'm the one to do it.

But how?

Having run around being very vague in an incredibly focused way today, a small glimmer of a notion appeared and it all clicked together when I had this last puzzle piece.

The answer is simple. I can write for Danielle. She's only tiny now, and I am very far away. I can't be a close-by auntie and spoil her rotten with gifts and attention and all that. But I can write for her. I can put this down on paper with her as my audience. I can start out simple and hopefully as she gets older, my skill will grow and together we can explore this world.

I'd like for her to know of the wondrous adventures of The Ancient and Venerable Plink. To get to know Salamanca the Unwise (a silverfish unwilling to go when her time had come), Trips the Courageous (Plink's long-time friend, ofttimes rescuer and later wife (and, quite frankly, the brains of the outfit)) and Eugene Whitford III (resident cat curmudgeon and relentless critic of Plink**.

I can't see Danielle every day, or even every week or month. I may never be more than the eccentric auntie that lives across the sea in a far-away and exotic land doing big grown-up stuff. But I want her to know that I love her and wish to be part of her life and growing up. What better way than to write a world for her? To have something that has been written for her, with care and attention and to the best of my abilities. It may not beat a garish plastic playhouse or definitely not me physically being there and spoiling her rotten, but it's the next best thing.

*scribbles happily*

*Please to be using his full honorific at all times, thank you so very much.

**He refuses to use the full honorific. Plink lets him get away with it, because Eugene is about 20 times larger than him. Not that Pli*ow*The Ancient and Venerable Plink (this is going to get old fast) will ever admit to that.

Sometimes you get an idea which makes you go 'hmm, that looks like fun', but when you try to write it down, it refuses to move from your mind to the paper. These ideas eventually languish and become idle daydreams.

Sometimes you get an idea that feels so real, so right, so urgent that you can't help but sit down straight away and put it on paper. So you scribble frantically, recording snatches of conversation, world building, images, landscapes, sounds and jokes. Then once the fire in your mind dies down, you step back and realise that, at this moment in time, you are not capable of doing this idea justice. You lack the skill. You lack the words. It does not languish because there is the hope that, one day, you will find the words and the skill to make this idea come to life on paper rather than just in your mind. Until that moment, it slumbers.

And sometimes, you get an idea that comes to you unbidden, possibly even unwanted, and it stays in the back of your mind, gathering information and words and images and dreams and previous ideas from all over the place. It grows every day, never coming to the fore but you can feel it gathering strength like a storm. You tingle. You feel something is about to happen. You want this to happen. It expands until it spills over to your conscious mind. And then, all of a sudden, you have this living, breathing idea soaring in your mind, drawing the images in blazing fiery colours across every creative synapse. The words burn in your mind's eye in letters 20 feet tall and a voice whispers incessantly in your ear to write writewriteit write it writeme pleaseplease write me write me and it doesn't care that you don't have the perfect words or if you hack it into a stone wall or write it in the sand with a stick as long as you write, write it, write down this wonderful, glittering, magnificent dream.

The Tales of the Ancient and Venerable Plink is one such idea. I can't ignore this. I can't worry if I don't have the words or if I'm good enough. It doesn't care. The Ancient and Venerable Plink* wants to have his day(s) in the sun. And I'm the one to do it.

But how?

Having run around being very vague in an incredibly focused way today, a small glimmer of a notion appeared and it all clicked together when I had this last puzzle piece.

The answer is simple. I can write for Danielle. She's only tiny now, and I am very far away. I can't be a close-by auntie and spoil her rotten with gifts and attention and all that. But I can write for her. I can put this down on paper with her as my audience. I can start out simple and hopefully as she gets older, my skill will grow and together we can explore this world.

I'd like for her to know of the wondrous adventures of The Ancient and Venerable Plink. To get to know Salamanca the Unwise (a silverfish unwilling to go when her time had come), Trips the Courageous (Plink's long-time friend, ofttimes rescuer and later wife (and, quite frankly, the brains of the outfit)) and Eugene Whitford III (resident cat curmudgeon and relentless critic of Plink**.

I can't see Danielle every day, or even every week or month. I may never be more than the eccentric auntie that lives across the sea in a far-away and exotic land doing big grown-up stuff. But I want her to know that I love her and wish to be part of her life and growing up. What better way than to write a world for her? To have something that has been written for her, with care and attention and to the best of my abilities. It may not beat a garish plastic playhouse or definitely not me physically being there and spoiling her rotten, but it's the next best thing.

*scribbles happily*

*Please to be using his full honorific at all times, thank you so very much.

**He refuses to use the full honorific. Plink lets him get away with it, because Eugene is about 20 times larger than him. Not that Pli*ow*The Ancient and Venerable Plink (this is going to get old fast) will ever admit to that.

I need to write. I don't know what it is, but there's something in my head that wants to come out on paper. It's not quite ready yet, though. It's been happily stewing in the back of my head for a while now and I've been content to let it build until it spills over.

But for some reason, listening to Davy Jones' theme makes it kicks the walls and waves its arms going 'Yo! Pay attention to me!'. It wants to spread its wings and soar, revealing itself to the world.

It feels like a major reveal or a story climax, but I don't know to which story. Heck, I don't even know if this fits an existing one or if my brain is once again about to drop something utterly weird and ultimately useless in my lap, like a one-winged elephant with vertigo.

I need to write. I don't know what it is, but there's something in my head that wants to come out on paper. It's not quite ready yet, though. It's been happily stewing in the back of my head for a while now and I've been content to let it build until it spills over.

But for some reason, listening to Davy Jones' theme makes it kicks the walls and waves its arms going 'Yo! Pay attention to me!'. It wants to spread its wings and soar, revealing itself to the world.

It feels like a major reveal or a story climax, but I don't know to which story. Heck, I don't even know if this fits an existing one or if my brain is once again about to drop something utterly weird and ultimately useless in my lap, like a one-winged elephant with vertigo.

I've been going through my documents, deciding which to delete and which to keep. I'm happy to report I deleted most of my uni stuff with a contented sigh. I also came across a few things I've written over the years. I looked at most of it, shuddered and firmly pressed 'delete'.

I also came across my plot bunnies document. This was odd. My brain is apparently a very, very weird place with a direct link to alternate universes with no logic resembling the one in this universe. Seriously, I have no other explanation for some of the things in there. Yet again, I shuddered and trimmed. However, the most ludicrous idea I've kept. I remember dreaming and thinking 'Wow, it makes so much sense. I can't wait to start writing.' I look at it now and wonder what the hell my brain was on that night, and where I can get some more. Because it really was a fun dream.

Actually, they don't. I'm not sure what they're up to, but they are currently having loads of fun trying to escape from a skyscraper guarded by robots from another planet. (Stop looking at me like that. It made sense at the time.) For some reason, they're after both the blue fuzzy alien and the undead teenager. Her name's Jessie. She's slightly pissed off about that. She thinks that, as an undead teenager, she really should have a more exciting name. The alien's name is John. Don't look at me. He chose it. He seems to think it will help him blend in. I haven't the heart to tell him otherwise.

This idea's been kicking around for some time, and I want to do stuff with it again. I've no idea where the story's going, or why they're in the skyscraper, or why the robots are after them. All I know is that John's searching for something, and while searching for it, he found an undead teenager in the skyscraper. (Don't you just love what the brain gets up to in the middle of the night?)

Oh, and he's developed a fascination with cats. Which led to this conversation:

‘Ooooh! Kitten!’‘You did not just do that.’‘Do what?’ ‘You squealed.’‘I did not!’‘Yes, you did. And I think you scared her.’‘I did not scare her. And it is a him, if you must know.’‘How can you tell?’He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Oh yes, I forgot. Sorry.’

Your guess is as good as mine, I swear.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to think of a way for John to take the kitten along as they try to escape the hordes of robots out to kill them.

I've been going through my documents, deciding which to delete and which to keep. I'm happy to report I deleted most of my uni stuff with a contented sigh. I also came across a few things I've written over the years. I looked at most of it, shuddered and firmly pressed 'delete'.

I also came across my plot bunnies document. This was odd. My brain is apparently a very, very weird place with a direct link to alternate universes with no logic resembling the one in this universe. Seriously, I have no other explanation for some of the things in there. Yet again, I shuddered and trimmed. However, the most ludicrous idea I've kept. I remember dreaming and thinking 'Wow, it makes so much sense. I can't wait to start writing.' I look at it now and wonder what the hell my brain was on that night, and where I can get some more. Because it really was a fun dream.

Actually, they don't. I'm not sure what they're up to, but they are currently having loads of fun trying to escape from a skyscraper guarded by robots from another planet. (Stop looking at me like that. It made sense at the time.) For some reason, they're after both the blue fuzzy alien and the undead teenager. Her name's Jessie. She's slightly pissed off about that. She thinks that, as an undead teenager, she really should have a more exciting name. The alien's name is John. Don't look at me. He chose it. He seems to think it will help him blend in. I haven't the heart to tell him otherwise.

This idea's been kicking around for some time, and I want to do stuff with it again. I've no idea where the story's going, or why they're in the skyscraper, or why the robots are after them. All I know is that John's searching for something, and while searching for it, he found an undead teenager in the skyscraper. (Don't you just love what the brain gets up to in the middle of the night?)

Oh, and he's developed a fascination with cats. Which led to this conversation:

‘Ooooh! Kitten!’‘You did not just do that.’‘Do what?’ ‘You squealed.’‘I did not!’‘Yes, you did. And I think you scared her.’‘I did not scare her. And it is a him, if you must know.’‘How can you tell?’He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Oh yes, I forgot. Sorry.’

Your guess is as good as mine, I swear.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to think of a way for John to take the kitten along as they try to escape the hordes of robots out to kill them.

I may complain about my mum regularly, but often, like today, she reminds me why I love her so very much. We've been talking about a few things. About being stressed at work, and depressed about failing the last exam and generally not having enough energy to find things to do that keep me interested and lots of other things. She had a wonderful idea, and I'm going to run with it (provided I find enough volunteers).

There are a few people on #afp (and probably elsewhere as well) that are in interested in crafts and such. Mum is now involved in a project where a few (in her case nine) people join up to make one (or more) needlepoint projects. Each person thinks up a theme, does the initial part of the project and sends it along to the next person along the line. In her case, there are nine different projects, with nine different themes.

I was thinking something less elaborate. It's a needlepoint project (cross stitch) with a Discworld theme (details to be hammered out later if people are interested) with the option of presenting the finished project to Pterry at the next Discworld Con (which I fully intend on attending, oh my yes).

All I need now is vict...er...volunteers.

Any takers? :)

I fully intend to do another small cross stitch project anyway for my new niece (who's now...er... nearly 3 months old and I've not yet seen her *ashamed*)

I've been rather productive over the past few weeks. For some reason, I now have more creative energy than in...well...a very long time. I've been writing quite a bit, though nothing detailed. Mostly snippets, such as conversations that crop up in my head, situation sketches and broad story arcs.

Only one or two ideas will actually work right away, about a quarter will only work with lots of rewriting, and most importantly, suspension of disbelief. And three-quarters is impossible even with huge amounts of tweaking and disbelief suspended by the neck until deaddeaddead.

Perhaps I should start writing fanfiction. I think it might be easier in some ways, since canon is already established and I don't have to think up a logical and functioning world all on my own. Because that's actually the part that causes me the most problems.

To be honest, I'm not one for the fiddly detail when it comes to writing. Sketching, knitting, needle-point, cross-stitch, you name it and I can do fiddly detail. It's just when it comes to writing that my attention wanders. Seriously, I'll sit down fully intending to fill in the detail, and 5 minutes later my brain will be going 'Wheeeeeee! Let's write smut!' , which is highly annoying, because I suck at writing it. And yet my brain insists on trying. I think it's broken, or at least seriously defective.

I've been rather productive over the past few weeks. For some reason, I now have more creative energy than in...well...a very long time. I've been writing quite a bit, though nothing detailed. Mostly snippets, such as conversations that crop up in my head, situation sketches and broad story arcs.

Only one or two ideas will actually work right away, about a quarter will only work with lots of rewriting, and most importantly, suspension of disbelief. And three-quarters is impossible even with huge amounts of tweaking and disbelief suspended by the neck until deaddeaddead.

Perhaps I should start writing fanfiction. I think it might be easier in some ways, since canon is already established and I don't have to think up a logical and functioning world all on my own. Because that's actually the part that causes me the most problems.

To be honest, I'm not one for the fiddly detail when it comes to writing. Sketching, knitting, needle-point, cross-stitch, you name it and I can do fiddly detail. It's just when it comes to writing that my attention wanders. Seriously, I'll sit down fully intending to fill in the detail, and 5 minutes later my brain will be going 'Wheeeeeee! Let's write smut!' , which is highly annoying, because I suck at writing it. And yet my brain insists on trying. I think it's broken, or at least seriously defective.